Thursday, March 14, 2013

The Fault in Our Stars by John Green

Have I ever mentioned that I never cry in books? I never cry in books. At least never for real. I made myself cry at the end of A Severe Mercy, but it was out of obligation.

At first I thought that I might have to dislike this book on principle. The main girl was so quirky and well-read and witty that I began to believe I would have to dismiss her as an unrealistic character. But then I got further in and realized that though she is wittier than I will probably ever be, she dealt with her stuff the way I would. And the problems she had were ones that would bother me. And I began to think she was a real person. And I would call that successful writing.

I cried in this book. I sobbed. Twice. It could be that I have a boyfriend I like rather a lot now, and the idea of death and all that has a new significance. But either way, I wept like a baby.